


Runs Deep Like a Tunnel With a Pendulum Beat

by slash4femme



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Charlie has a little bit of an emotional breakdown, Don has a little bit of a temportantrum, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Don has been shot five times and Charlie isn't taking it well<strong></strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	Runs Deep Like a Tunnel With a Pendulum Beat

**Author's Note:**

>  Originally written in August 2009
> 
> written for the prompt 'the fifth time' for the group [](http://community.livejournal.com/24_times/profile)[ **24_times**](http://community.livejournal.com/24_times/) . All of the stories written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/24_times/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/24_times/) **24_times**   will have titles taken from the song _Love's Lines, Angles and Rhyme_ s. 

_Five, five, five, five, five, five_. The number sings through Charlie’s mind red hot like a blade and there are lots of important things about that number all of which he knows but he’s not thinking about any of them, can’t think about any of them. Five is the number of times, Don’s been shot, out right shot and he would have been dead any of those times if it wasn’t for bad aim and Kevlar vests. Another piece of chalk snaps and Charlie looks down at where he’s ground most of it to dust all over his hands not really seeing it. Thinking about Don, thinking about bullets, their speed, weight, trajectory, the average thickness of Kevlar, the percentage of times it doesn’t manage to keep a bullet from penetrating a human body, the number of law enforcement officers shot to death yearly, it all makes Charlie’s stomach turn, the back of his throat burn and feel raw. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, forgets and doesn’t care that his hands are already cover in chalk.

The fight had been bad.  Don had thought Charlie was accusing him of incompetence or cowardice. Charlie hadn’t been thinking at all, too much fear, adrenalin, grief for what might have been . . . just too much.  He takes his hands away from his face and stares blindly at the floor, then the chalkboards. He stares at the glass Don had smashed on his way out that Charlie’s pretty sure was a substitute for him. Although he knows Don would never hurt him, never physically anyway, still the cold fury on his brother’s face was something that was going to haunt him for a while. He remembers earlier that day, hearing the shot, watching Don knocked backwards at the same time that Colby had pretty much physically thrown Charlie behind the nearest car. He hands start shaking again, and he feels light headed like he might actually faint. Blindly he turns back to the chalkboards, to the math, safe, sure, but it’s not coming because all he can hear are the shots all he can see is Don falling backwards. Don makes him stupid sometimes and he hates it.

Charlie raises one hand, traces the numbers on the chalkboard, and lets his mind fill only with them, only with the peace and beauty of them. Slowly he picks up another piece of calk. _Five times_. The piece of chalk hits the floor with a small sharp sound and Charlie wraps his arms around his own chest. It was bad enough the first time Don had been in a fire fight, bad enough that his brother had been shot before his eyes, but somewhere in the course of the fight, when they where creaming at each other and Alan had vacated the house until they were done, Don had told him. Told him, it had been five times; this was the fifth time Don had been shot. His brother, actually shot five times. The probability that he would survive another shooting . . . Charlie puts both hands flat on the table and leans against it to keep himself up right. Loosing Don, like he’d lost his mother, he doesn’t think he would be able to survive that.

“Charles.”

His head snaps up, Larry’s standing in the doorway to the house, haloed by light looking down at him with a very grave expression and Charlie just stares.

“Charles?”  Larry comes down the stares watching him, comes to a stop close but not quite touching. “Alan said there had been trouble, a shooting, you and Don were involved and then you two had a fight?”

Charlie can only nod dumbly suddenly so very tired.

“Charles?” Larry is gripping his arm, hand warm and strong around Charlie’s bicep, “are you alright?” Then Larry actually looks angry, but not at Charlie, at himself. “Of course you’re not. Stupid of me to even ask.” And Charlie sags against him all his strength gone, barely contained hysteria taking over and shakes against Larry, his hands digging into Larry’s shoulder in a way that must be painful, but Larry doesn’t flinch or push him away only puts his arms around Charlie and holds him close. “Charlie” Larry says and Larry’s use of Charlie’s nickname instead of his given name is enough to jerk him back to reality. He realizes he’s been hyperventilating. He takes a step back and Larry takes hold of his shoulders and shakes him not at all gently. “Charles. Enough. Stop.” Miraculously Charlie does, his mouth snapping shut and he stares at Larry and Larry sighs. “Please Charles before you do yourself damage.” Charlie opens his mouth again and this time Larry’s hands come up, gripping his face hard and Larry kisses him. Charlie grips Larry’s upper arms tightly and kisses back likes he’s drowning and maybe he is. Charlie’s used to kissing Larry being like waves, starting out gentle and shy before he himself quickly becomes more aggressive and assertive. This time is different, Larry starts out assertive, almost demanding in the way his tongue finds its way into Charlie’s mouth sweeping against his teeth, mapping out the roof if his mouth. Larry’s hands travel from his face to his shoulders his grip still so tight Charlie won’t be at all surprised to find he’s bruised later. It’s not at all normal, not at all what being kissed by Larry, held by Larry is usually like, but when Larry finally pulls away Charlie feels that some of his panic as subsided, his nervous energy redirected elsewhere. Larry lets go him and Charlie’s hands drop too and Larry takes a step backwards watching him for a moment and then takes Charlie’s hand. “Come on Charles.”  Larry leads him out of the garage and back into the house and Charlie doesn’t resist. Larry sits him down on his own couch and then goes to the kitchen and after several minutes a banging around comes back carrying a package of cookies, which he sets down on the coffee table. Larry takes one, handing it to Charlie before sitting down next to him on the couch.

Charlie stares at the cookie, still feeling rather nauseous and not at all like eating it. “What is this for?”

Larry smoothes his hands across his own thighs before folding them neatly in his lap “I often find them comforting.” He points out and Charlie takes a tiny bite and manages to swallow it before crumbling part of the cookie between his fingers. Beside him Larry sighs again. “Charles, believe me when I tell you, I understand your fear that one day one of these incidence you and Don finds yourselves in will have a quite fatal outcome.” Larry’s hands creep from his lap into Charlie’s to take hold of Charlie’s hands and removes the cookie gently from them. “But that day happily has not yet come and don’t you think you might be just the tiniest bit over reacting?”

Charlie actually laughs at that. “Over reacting because my brother was shot right in front of me or because he told me it had already happened four other times?”

For a moment Larry stares at him with something like the same open terror Charlie himself has been experiencing and then seems to pull himself together again. “Charles, I understand that you’re scared I really do, but Don is alive.” Larry squeezes Charlie’s hands tightly. “You both are.”  Charlie leans his head against Larry’s shoulder and Larry pats him gently on the back before Charlie straightens up. Charlie makes to get off the couch back to the garage but Larry grabs his hand instead. “Oh no you don’t Charles. I think you’ve had quite enough time sulking in the garage for tonight.” Charlie frowns down at him and opens his mouth to tell Larry that he wasn’t sulking and that he needs to work, he needs the comfort of it, but Larry’s already tugging him back down onto the couch. “Your father is at Don’s making sure he does no irreparable damage to himself or the walls and I am here to do the same for you.” Larry captures one of the Charlie’s hands between both of his. “And I am sorry Charles. You are welcome to fight with me or do what ever else you would like, but I can not let you back into that garage.”  Larry has a certain strength to his voice Charlie doesn’t hear often but vaguely remembers of when he was Larry’s student. He sighs knowing Larry’s decision is final and no amount of arguing is going to change that. He very briefly considering forcing his way back into the garage but, a. he doesn’t feel like he has the energy for another fight, and b. he has a sneaking suspicion Larry, although smaller, might actually be stronger then he is. Charlie ducks his head staring at their linked hands then nods, looks up and finally kisses Larry again. “Take me to bed?” Charlie asks between kisses, and Larry makes a small noise into Charlie’s mouth.  

“With pleasure Charles.”

They makes there way to Charlie’s bedroom, slowed up slightly be the fact that Charlie refuses to let go of the death grip he has on Larry’s waist, and Larry doesn’t try to make him. When they get there Larry kicks the door shut and walks Charlie over to the bed, pushing him down, kissing him again and then moving to unbutton Charlie’s pants. Charlie struggles up onto his elbows and Larry is half bent over him working Charlie’s jeans down and Charlie thinks vaguely that he and Larry seem to be wearing remarkably similar jeans and then that he loves Larry in blue jeans, or he might just love Larry. Larry finally succeeds in pulling his pants off and bends forward to kiss Charlie’s stomach and Charlie thinks the last part is probably, definitely true. He’s hand comes up to touch Larry’s shoulder and Larry sinks to his knees taking Charlie’s still only half-hard erection into his mouth. Charlie closes his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Larry’s shoulder under his hand, Larry’s mouth surrounding him. Pleasure slowly builds inside of him, tracking through him and Charlie tries to concentrate on it and then can’t. He stops being able to think about the sensation intellectually and instead only feels it, feels where he connects to Larry and where he doesn’t. He presses his free hand flat against the bed, rocks his hips forward until he’s stopped by Larry’s own hands, warm and firm against his skin, feels as all thoughts of death, fear and loss spin away from him leaving only pure numbers and Larry. Charlie turns his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the bedspread and comes.  After a few secants Charlie feels Larry pull away and then the bed dip as Larry lies beside him and Charlie moves enough to reach one hand over and unbutton Larry’s jeans, pushing them down just enough to get his own hand inside of Larry’s boxers, wrapped around Larry’s cock. Larry makes a noise between a moan and a sigh. Charlie begins to move his hand and turns his face towards Larry, kissing Larry’s shoulder through his t-shirt, stroking his other hand up underneath the t-shirt and along Larry’s belly. Charlie let’s his mind clear, concentrates on the numbers that now fill his mind, his own small gentle movements and touches against Larry’s body, thinks of nothing else but the weight of Larry against his hand until Larry comes pressing his face into Charlie’s neck.

“I love you.” Charlie says softly, staring at the ceiling feeling Larry pressed against his side, Larry’s breathe against his throat, Larry’s softening cock still in his hand. “I love you, you know that.”

Larry makes a small surprised noise, because Charlie has never actually said it. Although Charlie thinks Larry should have known, based on Charlie’s actions but maybe love is one of those things that needs to be stated. Larry pushes himself up on one arm and manages to get his jeans all the way off, before looking down at Charlie, expression thoughtful and a little serious. “I love you too.” Larry’s voice is soft and he stroke his hand down Charlie’s chest though his t-shirt, before laying next to him and wrapping his arms around Charlie. “And for the future please try to stay out of the line of fire.” Larry presses his face against Charlie’s shoulder and Charlie realizes that Larry’s hands are shaking ever so slightly. “I do not even want to speculate about what I would do if you were to be shot during one of these cases.”  Charlie touches Larry’s head, let’s his hand settle against the back of Larry’s neck while he thinks.

“I’m sorry.” He says finally “It never occurred to me . . .”

“That the idea of you been shot terrifies me?” Larry laughs softly but without humor. “No I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“I just don’t think about myself in those kind of situations.” Charlie’s tells him truthful, and Larry props himself up again and kisses Charlie.

“No you don’t.” Larry agrees. “Which makes you a braver man then many, myself included. I just . . .” Larry stares at Charlie, seemingly searching for words that won’t come and Charlie reaches up and pulls Larry down against him again.

“I get it.” He tells Larry softly, face pressed against Larry’s hair. “I understand.”

Larry puts both hands against Charlie’s chest right over his heart, and sighs. Charlie thinks about numbers, thinks about probability, and random occurrences, then thinks about Larry curled against him hands still firmly over his heart and reaches up to turn off the light.   

 

                      

 


End file.
